then the quiet explosion
by glitteratiglue
Summary: "If nature has made you a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart. And though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that." ― Frances Hodgson Burnett. ** Holodeck fishing and some unexpected honesty. S2.


A moment between _The Icarus Factor _and _Pen Pals_.

* * *

"Wow, it's beautiful here," is Wesley's exclamation as he follows Will through the holodeck doors and out into the wilderness of trees and open sky and running water. "This is Earth, isn't it?"

Will is already busy with setting out fold-away chairs on a nearby grassy bank, arranging lines and bait, so it takes him a moment to answer. "Yes. Curtis Creek, Alaska. I grew up around here." He's chosen late summer and the air is pleasantly crisp, cold enough for a thin jacket but not enough to make your teeth chatter.

Wesley nods and stands there awkwardly, not sure what to do until Will motions for him to sit, passes him a fishing rod and tells him to start tying some knots.

Minutes pass without either of them saying a thing, and Will is starting to think that Deanna's suggestion that he take the boy fishing was a bit of a misjudged thought (_"An excellent idea, Number One. Some survival skills will prove invaluable to Mr Crusher's Starfleet training,"_ the captain had told him with a twinkle in his eye).

Will Riker has never thought of himself a role model before. Being first officer of the Federation flagship requires setting an example for the ship and crew to follow, but that's different.

The idea that the captain considers him adequate to serve as Wesley's guide through the trials and tribulations of adolescence is a notion Will still finds amusing. His own teenage years were difficult enough. He'd been an angry, messed-up kid back then, who couldn't admit he needed a mother and had to make do with a worse-than-useless father. Wesley is better than that, so much smarter than he was, and that's what has terrified Will all along - the thought that he might screw this up, be as terrible as dealing with a teenage boy as Kyle Riker was.

Glancing at Wesley's clumsy first attempt at a fishing knot, Will smiles and shows him how to tie it properly.

"We used to go camping as a family," he tells Will. "My dad never liked fishing, though."

"My dad used to take me here." Will gestures to the surroundings. "Fishing was probably the only time he could actually talk to me."

Explaining why he can't talk to his father is something he can barely manage to articulate to Deanna, much less to a sixteen-year-old boy, so he can't really blame Wesley for not knowing what to say, indicated by his sudden interest in the view of the mountains beyond.

"Sorry. I kind of heard when he was here a few weeks ago. Your mother died, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Will replies calmly, looking up from the bait he's placing on a hook. "It's okay. I was two, I don't even remember her."

They cast lines and sit waiting, watching occasional bubbles break the surface of the muddy creek water.

"I miss mom sometimes," Wesley blurts out, hands clasped together, twisting his fingers just so he won't have to look up at the commander. He groans inwardly, the only thought in his head _why did I say that?_ - because it's not the same, it's not as if she's _dead_, just away. It isn't the first time he's made a total ass out of himself with a senior officer, but this would probably be up there with some of the worst times. As much as he likes talking to the commander, viewing him in a different light is hard to get used to. Commander Riker always tells him to drop the ranks when they're off the bridge, but Wesley still has a difficult time seeing him as anything but the superior officer who stands over his shoulder or leans on his console, casting a critical eye over his course corrections.

Will produces a sympathetic smile from somewhere, trying to hide the utter panic he feels at Wesley's confession. For all the friendly advice he's given Wesley and the conversations they've had on the bridge or around the ship, this is the first time they've done something together, just the two of them, and perhaps he avoided it for so long because he expected this. It's nice that the kid finds him approachable, but that thought is tempered by the knowledge that he is emphatically not the right person to deal with this stuff, that his tendency to compartmentalise his own feelings is not something he wants to pass on to Wesley. He'd rather give him advice about girls - hell, about sex if he really had to, as excruciatingly awkward as that conversation would be - than have to acknowledge that Wesley has these very adult feelings and fears, just like the rest of them.

"Sometimes I'm mad at her for going," Wesley admits, casting his eyes down. "I know it's wrong. And I don't want to seem ungrateful for what you all do for me. I appreciate the way Captain Picard wanted to keep me on the Enterprise – really, I do."

It takes a second for Will to reply. "It isn't wrong to think that, Wes. In fact, I'd say it's perfectly normal." With a resigned sigh, he adds, "What you have to understand is that while she's your mother, she still has a duty to the Federation, like we all do. Starfleet Medical felt her skills could be best utilised there."

Wesley nods in assent. "I know, commander."

Riker resists the impulse to add "_Just call me Will",_ because he was a junior officer once, too, and recalls that feeling of complete deference, of bending into any suggestion made by someone more superior than he.

Wesley continues: "Some of my friends have left before when their parents got postings on other ships. I am lucky that I got to stay, I know that - but it's just knowing that things always change. That there's no constant in life aboard a starship, except change."

Not for the first time, Will is struck by the disarming eloquence of this young man. But then he remembers what lurks in Wesley's past - the tragedy that has made him grow up more quickly than anyone should, that has made him seem so old and yet so vulnerable and young all at once - and suddenly feels cold, despite the jacket around his shoulders.

"It isn't easy, believe me," - Will softens his tone - "but if this is the life you want, sometimes there are times when you'll have to put duty ahead of everything. Even the things you care about the most."

Will thinks back to the Janaran Falls and the pieces of himself he left there; the pieces that Deanna still has of him to this day, that even the unexpected joy of their friendship can't mend. Turning down the_ Aries_ is a decision he still can't examine too closely, because if he does, he'll have to pretend he isn't _waiting._

Wesley is old enough and sharp enough not to miss the way Riker's face changes, his eyes softening with some private regret. With the ease of a practised poker player, Will seals it away quickly, but it isn't a look Wesley forgets for a while. It haunts him sometimes, the dead numbness he sees in the eyes of the older officers that surround him, when something goes badly wrong and they are too stunned to hide their reactions from him ("_he's just a kid"_, he's overheard once or twice from officers that are less than tolerant about his Acting Ensign status). He knows that look all too well; it was the look on Captain Picard's face the day he told him his father was dead.

He would never mention this, especially not to his mother. The fear that he is forgetting his father is one he hasn't shared with anyone, the sensation akin to the stomach-clenching dread when you miss a step on the stairs and your foot carries on into empty space.

Something Wesley wishes he didn't remember is the way Beverly Crusher cried quietly when everyone finally got to bed after the tumult of the Enterprise's first mission. It was late: she hadn't meant him to hear, had thought he was asleep already. He hadn't heard his mother cry like that since the early days, ones he hardly remembers except for the way she would hold his small body so tight that his ribs ached, her tears falling onto his head while they tried in vain to comfort each other.

As much as it distressed him at the time, he was old enough then to understand that adults cry for all kinds of reasons, and sometimes just the same reasons as kids do. He knows his mom was crying that night because of the captain, and he even has some idea why – but what does he know, after all? He's just a kid.

"I don't remember so much now, but my dad was away a lot when I was little," Wesley begins with a hard swallow, adjusting the drag on his reel. "My parents agreed that I'd go with my mom on her starship postings, but we saw Dad as much as possible. We spent three years on the _USS Prague,_ before..."

Will thinks about the _after _that Wesley can't say, about the way Beverly or Jean-Luc's eyes tighten at the mere mention of Jack Crusher; the faded point of a triangle he's sensed since the first time he saw them interact. Privately, he imagines that has a lot to do with why Beverly left the ship, and very little to do with her duty to the Federation, despite what he just told her son a minute ago. Changing the subject seems like a better idea.

"The _Prague_, eh? Under the command of Captain d'Shila," Will murmurs, remembering his academy textbook and how the Prague had been the first ship to chart an expanding proto-star in the Gamma Hydra sector. "She's still captain, I think. The woman's been in Starfleet longer than Captain Picard now, I'll wager."

He wishes he had thought of a better topic to distract Wesley, because this probably isn't doing much good at not reminding him of Jack. It isn't as though Will thinks only in terms of Starfleet, just that sometimes it's harder than he admits to shed the larger-than-life role he spends so much of his time inhabiting, both in and out of uniform.

"Longer than the captain? Wow. She must be old," says Wesley with a grin that he sheds hastily, realising too late that he's made a roundabout joke about the captain while in the company of his first officer, but Will laughs, putting him at ease.

Will allows that he can be somewhat intimidating to the junior officers, and that frankly, sometimes he needs to be in order to get the job done. With Wesley, he tries to remember to hold himself back a little, having seen the way the boy's hands sweat on the bridge console whenever he has the conn and the captain gives him a direct order to carry out. There's no point in saying that his rank doesn't matter – because they both know it does – but what he doesn't say is that Wesley is his equal, as much as anyone else, and uniforms shouldn't get in the way of that.

"Did you always know this was what you wanted to do?" Wesley asks nervously, hesitating before he continues. "Because I do want it, I think, but sometimes I wonder if I want it because of my parents."

He has broached the subject with Commander La Forge before, thinking that coming from a Starfleet family, he might have some insight. The engineer just shrugged and said he'd never known any different, and it seemed like a natural way to challenge himself when everyone had underestimated what he could achieve with a disability. Wesley could understand that, but he envied the certainty in the man's tone, of knowing that he'd made the right decisions in his life.

"I think you'll make the choice that's right for you. And I know your mother wouldn't love you any less if you didn't go into Starfleet." Will thinks of Beverly like the tough-but-kind older sister he could have done with growing up, so he is fairly confident in saying this.

"Thanks," Wesley says, in a way that lets Will know he isn't getting out of answering the original question. "So _did_ you always want to be in Starfleet?"

"I didn't always want to, no. I had no idea what the hell I wanted because I was too busy getting into trouble. If I hadn't been accepted into the academy I probably would have ended up in jail." It costs Will more than he would let on to admit this – he's only ever told Deanna, and he couldn't really hide it from her to start with (sometimes she tells him affectionately that he could give her enough material for a whole conference lecture series).

He recalls the contempt in his father's eyes whenever a police officer would haul him through the door, drunk and caught doing whatever damn stupid thing it was that week. Kyle Riker would usually manage to smooth things over - the only reason Will hadn't ended up with a juvenile record - and put on a pretty good show of being a doting father. It was only when the door would close that Kyle would look at him with contempt and leave the room without a word. It was never anything that bad, really, but if he hadn't eventually come his senses he has no doubt that it would have escalated and with a record, his chances of getting into Starfleet Academy would have been exactly zero. Looking back, it was a textbook example of attention seeking behaviour, and it often had the opposite effect of making his father retreat further behind those impenetrable iron walls of his.

With time and experience, he can see the pain that lies behind his miserable childhood, why Kyle took every off-planet assignment he could and finally cleared off for good, just so he wouldn't have to see Betty Riker's blue eyes looking out at him from his son's face. The years have brought understanding, but they won't ever bring forgiveness, and this is something Will has learned to accept. Mostly, anyway.

The darkest truth of all is knowing, deep down, that he might not be here, in this uniform, if Kyle hadn't left. Abandonment has taught him to be self-reliant, to rely on his instincts; these things served him well when he eventually knuckled down to his school work and set his sights on the academy and a life among the stars (it probably had as much to do with wanting to prove to his father he could amount to something, but that's not the explanation Will prefers).

But to accept this is to sweep away all those years of awkwardness and distance between them, to acknowledge that his father is a part of who he is. He isn't ready for that yet, and maybe he won't ever be. Those nights when sleep won't come easily, when he stares into the bathroom mirror, sees Kyle Riker's jawline there and thinks how he looks more and like his father every day – those are the bad ones. In the days that follow he always tries to be a little softer, kinder, less arrogant and abrupt, but it's hard to deny your nature, even if he is aware of it and tries to temper that side of himself. He will always be his father's son to some extent.

Wesley makes a surprised noise, jolting Will out of his self-indulgent reverie. "What kind of stuff did you do?" His young companion's eyes glint with interest, and it amuses Will, because he knows what he's thinking: Wesley can't believe a by-the-book Starfleet officer like William T. Riker has a chequered past.

Will raises an eyebrow, torn between the knowledge that Wesley is sensible enough not to repeat his mistakes and the thought that some of what he did definitely isn't appropriate to share. Drunkenly losing his virginity to Cadence Lieberman at the age of thirteen in the woods, an awkward, muddy experience that left them both with painful horsefly bites in places there never should be bites – that's something he'll be keeping to himself, for one.

"Uh, just some mildly rebellious stuff. Fights, vandalism, some light property damage. Drinking below the legal age – which is a really bad idea, by the way." Will is aware of how stiff and uptight he sounds, but Beverly's face is in his mind and he can't forget he's talking to her teenage son. "Spending too much time chasing girls, rather than paying attention to my school work."

Wesley laughs, stretching back in his chair. "That's kind of dull, commander. I was expecting something much more exciting."

"Watch it, kid. Let's just say that your mother would kill me if I told you the rest," Will says, meeting Wesley's eyes with a conspiratorial grin.

The artificial sun is just starting to set when there's a sudden tremor in the water, at the foot of Wesley's line.

"A bite!"

"Okay, now reel her in carefully," says Will, guiding Wesley with a hand on the reel in a way that's not much different from helping him execute a complicated manoeuvre on the helm console. "That's it. Easy." The holographic fish is putting up a surprising amount of fight, but he stands back and lets Wesley figure out what to do, how to put the right amount of pressure on the spool and reel in the line until a glossy trout is thrashing on the bank beside them.

Will is reminded of a little boy from the past who was mad at his father because he wouldn't let him catch a fish by himself; he's struck by the sudden, poignant thought that Wesley never got a chance to find out what mistakes his father would have made.

_He's a good kid_, thinks Will. He would have been just fine either way.

"What do we do now?" asks Wesley, trying not to look at the dead fish next to him (he takes comfort in the fact it isn't real, not really).

Will grins, fumbling in his pocket for the box of replicated matches he hopes he hasn't forgotten. "Don't tell me you've never grilled trout over an open fire."

* * *

**This owes a lot to thisparticularlight. Her lovely fic about Will, Wesley and Beverly made me find a new appreciation for these characters and the relationships between them.**

**The quote in the summary comes from _A Little Princess_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett, a book I have read so much since childhood and still love today because it makes me feel brave.**


End file.
